


Brace for Impact

by shyfoxes



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Altea is a corporation, Antok Is A Little Shit, Fight Club - Freeform, Fight Club AU, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Galra is a fight club, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Hope, Human Allura (Voltron), Implied Relationships, Keith & Shiro are implied to be adopted siblings, Lotor is a diva, M/M, Memes, Pre-Relationship, Shiro (Voltron) is a Mess, Strangers to Friends, Thace & Ulaz Are Dad Friends, good-ish Lotor, mentions of Hunk Pidge and Keith, minor Allura, minor Lotor, some violence, zarkon - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 10:14:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11621454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shyfoxes/pseuds/shyfoxes
Summary: "Not to be rude, my guy,” Lance said, “but you’re wrong. You are worth it. I’m going to prove it to you.”“By doing what exactly?” Shiro asked, exasperated. “Standing outside Galra Tech with a sign? Spray-painting Zarkon’s car? There’s nothing you can do, Lance.”Lance held his chin up. “What if I fight you?”Shiro blinked, jaw dropping. “What?”“What if I fight you? What if I fight everyone on that list to get to you?” Lance exclaimed. “If I win, you come with me. If I lose - I’ll leave you alone, forever.”Or, underground fighter Shiro finally learns how to hope again from a persistent guy named Lance.





	Brace for Impact

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Warmybones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warmybones/gifts), [persephonea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/persephonea/gifts).



> Sorry in advance about the spacing. It's what happens when I copy paste from google docs. I'll clean it up later.

Lance McClain had to be one of the stupidest guys Shiro had ever met.

He said that with a grain of salt. He'd been a part of the Galra for some time. He'd seen some true acts of idiocy; enough to last a lifetime. But Lance - he had to take the cake.

Lance was not only stupid, he was _stubborn_.

Had Shiro been Takashi Shirogane again, hell, even the Shiro Lance so casually called him (not Champion, never Champion. Not _You_ or _Wretch_ or any such thing), he might have been fairly impressed with the other man. But now, watching Lance get his ass handed to him, Shiro knew this was just plain stupidity.

How many times had he told Lance to go away, go home? Yet he was still here, taking fists to his face and body, smiling, even when he was black and blue, like he knew some grand secret Shiro didn't know.

It was downright unnatural.

Didn't he know the Galra Gang could do worse than kill him? Didn't he know that the Galra and the underground fight club were owned by the CEO of Galra Tech, and that ruining lives was like breathing to Zarkon? After Shiro had shattered his previous prosthetic - a cheap thing that had served its purpose but had never been meant for fighting - smashing it into Myzak’s face, Zarkon had presented Shiro with a bionic arm. Shiro had known this had been a trap. There was no declining, even if Zarkon had gone through the motions of saying so. The moment he’d shown promise, it had all been over. He was Galra property now.

Yet, Lance - free, goofy, _pure_ Lance - was still coming back here again and again. Shiro couldn't understand it.

Ulaz took Lance up by the collar of his shirt, his spindly legs dangling in the air as he dug his fingers into Ulaz’s wrist. A look akin to pity flashed across Ulaz’s face before he simply dropped Lance on the ground, walking out of the ring. Around them the crowd hissed, dissatisfied with the match. They had wanted action, not to watch someone get thrown around like a meat sack.

Lance rose up on his knees with a groan, a bright bruise forming on his cheek. Shiro guessed there were about a dozen more littering his body under his clothes. He shook his head. That was what he got for being so arrogant.

Still, Lance got to his feet. He staggered, bracing his hands on his knees. He eventually was able to stand. Lance walked proudly even if he looked like he might pass out.

Then, he spotted Shiro and a grin broke across his face. Shiro grimaced.  

It was always like this. Lance would get his ass handed to him. He’d crawl out of the ring. He’d find Shiro and grin at him like they were two guys casually about to order a drink at a local bar, not standing in some dirty, underground fight club.

“Catch my match?” Lance asked. He always began the conversations. “Almost had Ulaz this time.”

Shiro scoffed. He never meant to answer and encourage Lance but it happened anyway, despite his better judgement. The guy just brought it out of him no matter what.

“If that's what you want to call it,” Shiro muttered. “Your stance is still weak. I _told_ you to fix it. You might have avoided at least one more injury if you had.”

It wasn't until Lance’s eyes sparkled that Shiro realized his mistake. He grimaced as a grin - bloody and frankly kind of ugly - broke across Lance’s face.

“Aww, Big Guy, you do care,” Lance joked.

Shiro frowned. No, he didn't. “Even I can't stand to see someone get beaten as badly as you do that often. And I don't care.” _Right?_

Lance waved a hand, wincing. “Whatever you say, Shiro.”

Lance tapped his hands against the bar counter, ignoring the pinched look on Shiro’s face to ask for an ice pack. Thace gave it to him, shaking his head.

“When are you going to give up?” Shiro asked.

Lance let the ice pack hover just away from his cheek. He looked older for a moment, oddly serious. He fixed Shiro with a look, blue eyes thin and sharp in the dim lighting. Shiro clenched his fist at the thrum of challenge it pulled from him.

“You remember our agreement, right?” Lance said slowly. “I'm not leaving until you do, too. I manage to work my way up and defeat you and you'll leave this place.”

Shiro sneered. “That's not happening “

Lance huffed. He pressed the ice pack to his cheek.  “Then I guess you're stuck with me,” he muttered, under his breath. He pushed past Shiro and climbed the stairs to the back alley.

Shiro slumped against the bar, gut twisting with a feeling Shiro didn't want to acknowledge. It tasted bitter, a long forgotten sensation that had since left Shiro some time ago.

-

“Holy crow! You're Takashi Shirogane!” a voice had yelled.

Shiro had whipped around so fast, he had cricked his neck.

It had been so long since he’d heard his real name, known the sound of the syllables.

The past three years had been ruthless.

Everything was a jumble for Shiro. He’d never been sure where he begins or ends, where the Galra, the fighting, the Garrison all fit in. Everything mismatched, faces blurring, voices wrong in his head.

But usually he could deal with it. All it took was the feeling of tape around his fingers, the flexing of his scarred and raw knuckles, and the scream of blood thirsty crowds to make him forget. He wasn't Takashi Shirogane, ex-ace pilot of the Garrison, Greatest Pilot of a Generation. He wasn’t even Shiro, half thing, wrong thing. He was some nameless fighter, known by the crowds as The Champion, some banged up nobody that risen up from the ranks and given them a show that they’d been hungering for.

 No one cared what he was before, what he used to do. He was a betting tool. He was Galra Gang’s newest ivory piece.

 But here and now, he was _Takashi Shirogane._

 It surprised Shiro how much he had missed hearing his own name.

 “You're - you're here!” The voice - a young man, barely pushing twenty - with a fresh face, genuine and kind, came up to him. He practically shone just looking at Shiro, like he somehow just figured out how to get to Kerberos and back in 5 seconds.

 Shiro only grunted, turning away. He wasn't that guy anymore.

 “Oh man, I can't believe it! At first, I thought I was seeing things. Like, there's no way _the_ Takashi Shirogane can be in this old dive bar looking like, well, he crawled out of a cage match,” The guy prattled on, voice too loud and causing mutters to burst across the back of the bar.

 Shiro downed his drink, wondering if he ignored the other guy he would burn out and leave. Shiro’s human hand tightened on the glass.

 “You've changed so much, but I mean with all you been through, of course you have. But dude, you're so bulky! And wide!” The guy laughed. “I can barely put on weight, but you - you're HUGE.”

 Shiro clicked his tongue.

 “I still can't believe it,” The guy said, almost dreamy. “you just- just disappeared, man. I thought you were dea- well, nevermind. You've been so close all this time? How could I not notice -”

 “Listen,” Shiro said, cutting him off, barely concealing his temper. “I'm not in the mood right now.”

 The guy had stopped talking then, thin lips forming an O as he nodded in understanding. He seemed unsure of what else to do now that he couldn't keep talking at Shiro. Shiro did him the favor of turning away, facing the stacks of bottles before him, Thace’s arm coming in and out of his peripheral.

 Shiro could almost feel when the guy had dropped down in the seat next to him. The seat squeaked under his lithe body, creaking as he spun slightly on it and raised his hand to call Thace over.

 Shiro had expected him to have left already. He had, after all, cut him off rudely and ended the conversation. He wasn’t even feeding this guy’s interest. Surely he could feel the frost radiating off of Shiro? He chanced a glance at the other guy, watching Thace come over to get his order.

 “Can I get one of those fruity things?” The guy asked. He pointed a thumb and a grin Shiro’s way. “Aaaand whatever he wants.”

 Thace’s eyebrow shot up before he was grinning wryly. The sides curved when he caught Shiro’s eye. Thace only barely held back a laugh.

 “One fruity thing and another lager coming up,” Thace said.

 The guy seemed pleased, brimming with a kind of excitement and vitality that made Shiro think that he'd probably never had a hardship in his life. He glanced down at where the other guy was playing with his hands on the bar counter. His hands looked smooth still, like he'd never had to crawl and scrape by or bust a guy’s nose in just to get a meal. The guy looked back at him, pearly teeth poking into his lower lip. Shiro could _feel_ him bursting with the urge to talk.

 “I'm Lance, by the way,” the guy ended up blurting, hurriedly, like each separate word was a part of one thing. Lance smiled with a flash of teeth and went back to drumming his fingers on the table. Shiro sensed that was the only way Lance wouldn't keep blabbing things out at him otherwise.

 Thace came back, sliding Shiro his beer, then slapped down Lance’s drink. Shiro knew Thace could sense his unease, the amusement lining his face as he regarded Lance.

 “So how do you know our, uh, Shiro here?” Thace asked.

 Lance beamed, leaning across the counter towards Thace. Thace humored him, crossing his arms on the bar counter and leaning forward, too. Lance flashed a shy smile, boyish and pure, like he was giving away a great secret. Shiro felt his stomach churn, burning from more than just the lager.

 “He’s the reason I enrolled into the Garrison,” Lance said. “I saw him flying once and that was it for me. I knew I had to get in.”

 The bottle in Shiro’s hand creaked under pressure. Thace’s eyebrows shot up, whistling low. Lance took a too big gulp of his drink. A flush had already worked its way to his dark brown cheeks. Whether from the alcohol or from his embarrassment, Shiro couldn’t tell. It wasn’t his business if Lance was a lightweight. He just wanted Lance to stop talking. Who cared about the Garrison anymore? Shiro glared at Thace. Thace hummed.

 “You get in then?” Thace asked. “Seeing as you admire this guy so much.”

 Lance rubbed the back of his neck, smile drooping even as his eyes burned bright. “After three tries, yeah, I did.”

 “How long ago was that?” Thace continued, uncaring of how Shiro was glaring at him.

 “Three years ago?” Lance answered. A strange look passed over his face.Shiro was surprised that for all Lance’s earlier transparency, he couldn’t decipher this look. “I got accepted a couple months before Shiro, uhm. Well I got in, yeah.”

 Thace nodded and took Lance’s glass, heading to the other end of the bar. An uncomfortable silence fell over the both of them with Thace’s presence no longer mitigating things. Lance bit into his lip again.

“Sooo,” Lance started when a couple minutes had come and gone, the beer in Shiro’s hand all but gone. “You come here often?”

From the other end of the bar, Thace was laughing. Shiro could just make out the amused snicker of Antok, a big bulky guy that was employed by Zarkon’s son, Lotor - a hell of a name, if you asked Shiro. Shiro felt a rush of embarrassment flood him, unfamiliar and hot in his chest.

“Only when I have time,” Shiro replied dryly. “Otherwise, no.”

Lance hummed. “But like,” Lance began. “Is there a day you come here in particular? Like a usual day?”

“No -”

“Thursdays!” Antok called from his seat. “Sits right there and drinks all of one beer every time.”

Shiro fixed him with a glare. If he really pushed himself, he could take Antok in a fight. Maybe.

“You actually like beer?” Lance asked, throwing Shiro off.

“It’s - no one actually -  no, not really,” Shiro blurted, unsure of how Lance had caught him so off guard. Antok and Thace were laughing now. He hissed at them, “Shut up.”

Shiro ran a hand over his face. Lance swiveled on his chair, hands disappearing into his jacket pockets. Lance sucked in a breath between his teeth.

“Can I - come back and see you?” Lance asked, soft, almost vulnerable.

Shiro furrowed his brows, searching Lance’s face for a hint at something. What the hell could he even want with some washed up old ex-pilot? Was he that lonely?

“I’ll pay for your beers?” Lance added in.

Shiro frowned. It wasn’t like he drank that often anyway. He never really cared for alcohol. A beer now and then was about it. Paying for a beer Shiro didn’t even care to drink wasn’t the least bit appealing.

The guy had already annoyed him the moment he’d opened his mouth. If he told him no, then he’d be free of Lance. It was just logic.

Lance may seem abrasive, talkative, but Shiro was pretty good at reading people, he thought. Lance would back off if he said it. Lance would leave him alone if he said it. Lance -  wouldn’t be around to call him Shiro anymore.

Shiro would later blame sleep deprivation when he sighed and told Lance, “Yes.”

(The smile he got in return did nothing for his sleep deprivation, but it did wonders for the short moments he did manage to sleep).

-

Shiro knew he should never have given Lance that little inch. Lance had taken that much farther than Shiro could have ever hoped to imagine. He had figured that if he just barely humored Lance, showed how much he didn’t measure up to Lance’s expectations, that he would just fizzle out, get bored with him. He’d see Shiro was some fake thing, a broken soldier. Then he would recoil and return to wherever he had come  from and leave Shiro the hell alone.

But Lance was nothing if not surprising. Painfully so.

Thursdays, the only day he was never slated to fight at the Galra Underground Fight, met him with Lance already waiting at the bar, chatting Thace up like they were old friends. Thace didn’t seem to mind, amused if anything else. Shiro couldn’t imagine the feeling.

Whenever he entered the bar, there was Lance already seated next to Shiro’s usual stool, mouth running a mile a minute. Shiro was even more annoyed to realize how much he had come to be accustomed to seeing Lance.

But how could you even blame him? It had been a good couple of weeks. Lance had basically just become another part of the bar. even if he drank water more often than whatever fruity drink he would get Thace to make from time to time. Shiro could have little wonder about why Lance was really coming back again and again if it wasn't Thace’s drinks. There were times he even came carrying a doggy bag from home to share between Shiro, Thace, and at times Antok, when the big man wasn’t busy guarding Lotor’s back. Shiro could almost admit that Lance was bearable.

He didn’t even like Lance.

_(Right?)_

He heaved a sigh, muttering to himself about bracing for impact.

“I don’t think you know how much I looked up to you,” Lance said. “Like, you were it for me, dude. I don’t think I’d ever seen someone so breath-ta - _cool_ in my whole life.”

Shiro squirmed. He ran his prosthetic through his forelock, yanking at the strands. He squeezed his eyes shut. The space between his ears felt like it was throbbing.

“When we got to tour the Garrison and you were there. You were like, the coolest 16 year old ever. My poor 14 year old heart was going out of control and everything!” Lance admitted.

Shiro breathed through his nose.

“I saw you flying and knew I wanted to be in the Garrison,” Lance said, voicing going quieter. Why did Shiro feel like he could feel Lance frowning? “Then you disappeared, dude. You just - there’s a lot of people really cut about you disappearing - ”

Shiro snarled then, bottle shattering in his grip. Thace looked over, but said nothing. Next to him, Lance’s eyes were wide. His thin lips were parted, looking between Shiro and the bottle’s remain resting in the palm of his prosthetic.

“Shiro -”

“Like who?” Shiro said, low. Dangerous. “Just who the hell even cares that I’m here?”

 Lance slammed his fist on the counter, the force of it nearly rocking his whole body. Lance dug his nails into the hardwood. Shiro watched the white bleeding under Lance’s nails, surprised.

 “Me, for one!” Lance cried. “I care that you’re here! Dude, I - I look up to you! You’re my hero! Of course I care. You don’t think I don’t notice how much you look like you’ve been through a blender when I see you? I know you don’t think I notice much, but I do.”

 “I’m not your hero,” Shiro said, heat rising inside of him, quick and nasty. “Don’t call me that. You don’t know what I’ve had to do after everything. You think I _like_ where I am -”

 “I know I don’t!” Lance said loudly, forcing everyone to turn and look at him. He took a breath. “Shiro - I know I could never understand what you’ve been going through. But you can’t really think that - that just because of what happened, no one wants anything more to do with you?”

 “What about Keith? Isn’t he your family?” Lance said, trying again. “Or Pidge - Katie - the Holts. Don’t you think they’d wonder about you?”

 Lance hesitated, resting a hand near Shiro’s but not touching him. He looked up at Shiro, making sure that Shiro still had personal space despite it all.

 “You’re Takashi Shirogane, of course people care about you,” Lance muttered, going quiet. “And even if you weren’t Shiro, who would want to sit around and watch you tear yourself apart?. Did you think just because you - you aren’t the same as you once were, that no one would still think you mattered?”

 Shiro didn’t have an answer to that. He didn’t _want_ to answer that.

 Lance laughed a bit. “Like I said, you’re my hero, dude. I have always looked up to you.”

 A flash of irritation picked at Shiro. Lance held a hand up to him, asking for his patience. Shiro breathed.

 “I’ve always looked up to you, I always built you up like you’re this - this invincible guy. But you’re not are you? I know I can get - _overwhelming_ when I talk to you because I’m so starstruck. But, I just wanted you to know how much you meant - _mean_ to me,” Lance said.

 Lance drew his hands back into his lap. Shiro followed the movement, oddly forlorn.

 “I thought that maybe if I could let you know that, then maybe you would want to come back,” Lance admitted. “When you were ready.”

 Shiro caught Thace’s eye from over Lance’s head; Thace’s head was inclined stiffly, jaw set and rigid. His eyes flitted to the side. Shiro could see Sendak’s glower from the corner booth, the flash of golden fangs appearing from beneath Sendak’s sneer. Thace looked down at Lance and Shiro knew what this meant.

 Shiro hesitated, hand hovering above Lance’s shoulder before he took both of them in his hands. Something squirmed at the back of his mind, foggy and undeveloped. Lance looked up at him, open and yet unreadable all at once.

 “I don’t think that can happen,” Shiro said. “I think you should leave. Don’t come back here again. Understand?”

 “But why -”

 “Understand?” Shiro pressed firmly.

 Lance’s shoulders rose and fell in his grip with one big breath. He didn’t nod, but a small yes worked its way out of his mouth.

 Lance stood up and left. Shiro didn’t see him again at Thace’s bar again after that.

 Then, Lance had showed up at the Galra Underground Fighting Club, and everything had gone to shit.

 -

 Had Shiro already said that Lance was stubborn? Well, let it be known that Lance was stubborn.

 It wasn’t even as if Shiro had not grown up around stubborn people (Keith), nor that he didn’t know how to deal with them. But something about Lance’s sheer hard-headedness was like trying to push back against a hurricane. Shiro couldn’t hope to win.

 It was an obnoxious thought to swallow for a guy nicknamed The Champion.

 Lance had shown up to the underground fight club two days later, looking as out of place as he’d looked in Thace’s bar. His oversized jacket looked even larger on his thin frame, even with the wide expanse of his shoulders giving him some slight bulk.

Shiro had scrubbed at his eyes, watching Lance being jostled by the crowds and patrons, looking around like a lost kid in a mosh pit. Against Shiro’s better judgement, he grabbed Lance by the arm and took him out behind the bar Thace had been manning, and into the back room.

 “What are you _doing_ here?” Shiro had hissed. “Do you know how dangerous this is? I told you not to come back!”

“No, you told me I couldn’t come back to the other bar. But you said nothing about this place,” Lance retorted, crossing his arms. “What is this place anyway?”

Shiro rubbed a hand over his face. He suddenly felt exhausted. The three matches from that week alone were really wearing on him; he didn’t need Lance’s antics to add to that.

Lance looked around the back room, at the littering of posters and reports posted up all around the walls. Photographs and fight club match flyers were also pinned up. Shiro could see Lance eyeing the one that had him on there. It was a match he had had last week, against Haxus. A ranking of all the fighters owned by the club was pinned not far away. Shiro’s name was on top.

“It’s a place you don’t need to be in,” Shiro said. “It’s owned by Zarkon. You need to leave.”

Lance fixed him with a look. “Okay, I’ll leave. But you have to come, too.”

“I can’t do that,” Shiro said. He held up the bionic his arm. “You see this? It means I’m a part of them now. I’m not leaving. But _you_ are.”

Shiro moved to take Lance by the arm, only to have the other man pull away from his grip. Lance fixed him with a look. He crossed his arms.

 “And I said, I’m not leaving without you. So, what’s it going to take for me to get you out of here?”

 “Nothing you can do, unless you suddenly come into thirty thousand dollars and a way to take down Zarkon,” Shiro remarked. “Lance -”

 “Wait that things costs thirty-thousand bucks? Dude! Even Altea Tech ones are only like fifteen thousand, at best. What, are the secrets of the universe in that thing?” Lance said.

 “Lance, this isn’t a joke! These people will ruin you. Zarkon isn’t something to laugh at. Whatever he wants, he gets,” Shiro tried again. “I get that you want to help me, but doing this? Risking yourself like this? It’s not worth it.”

 Lance held his arms out, palms open with a look of utter challenge on his face. He looked Shiro square in the eye, daring him to disagree with him.

 “Not to be rude, my guy,” Lance said, “but you’re wrong. You _are_ worth it. I’m going to prove it to you.”

 “By doing what exactly?” Shiro asked, exasperated. “Standing outside Galra Tech with a sign? Spray-painting Zarkon’s car? There’s nothing you can do, Lance.”

 Lance held his chin up. “What if I fight you?”

 Shiro blinked, jaw dropping. “What?”

 “What if I fight you? What if I fight everyone on that list to get to you?” Lance exclaimed. “If I win, you come with me. If I lose - I’ll leave you alone, forever.”

 “There is no way you would even manage one fight against anyone on that list. They would flip you so quickly on your ass you wouldn’t even realize it,” Shiro retorted. He took Lance up by the arm, holding him and moving him towards the door. “I’m not letting you break yourself in half like this.”

 “You’re not the boss of this place, Shiro. If I want to fight, then I’m gonna,” Lance said, his tone promising finality.  Lance wrenched himself out of Shiro’s grip. He pulled his jacket tighter around himself. “Just be ready to have your socks knocked off, big guy!”

 Then he was flying out of the back room, throwing a hello and goodbye over his shoulder at Thace, and disappearing up the stairs. Thace looked back at Shiro, eyebrow cocked. Shiro didn’t know what to think.

 -

 Lance was a terrible fighter. Not even a quarter of the way into his first match, and Shiro could remember that it had taken all of 2 minutes for Lance to go down. He had even been fighting Haxus, one of the weakest members on the list. Yet, when compared to Lance, Haxus might have been the best fighter there.

 Lance had left the ring, nose bloodied and eye swelling shut. He had staggered to his feet, proud as ever. He hadn’t accepted any help, not that anyone was offering him any. He only shot Shiro one look before he left wordlessly.

 Then he came by the next night, and the next night. The night after that, and the night after that. Each time he was slammed to the floor, his body cracked sickeningly as it met the ground, and blood trickled slowly as it worked its way out of his body. Even with this teeth stained red, Lance could still smile. Even with bruises blossoming on his cheeks, he could still let an arrogant comment slide from his tongue.

 Shiro couldn’t understand it.

 “You’re going to get yourself killed,” Shiro had told him one day. “Didn’t the Garrison ever teach you _anything_?”

 Lance shrugged. Ulaz pasted a bandage to Lance’s cheek. Somehow his earnesty had gained him Ulaz’s favor as well. What mild amusement and pity Thace might have had for the guy had morphed into genuine concern. Ulaz had not been far behind. Ulaz tutted at Lance when he hissed and drew back.

 “Hand to hand is only for fighter pilots,” Lance muttered. “Cargo pilots only handle cargo.”

 Shiro’s eyebrows shot up, arms coming uncrossed. “You never made it to fighter class? But you were bragging about beating Keith out.”

 “Well, yeah. I have the book part of it down pat. I did regularly beat Keith at that,” Lance said. He held his bloodied knuckles up for Ulaz to wrap. “When it came to the simulators...not so much.”

 “So you’re just winging it,” Ulaz observed, “hoping you’ll just pick something up and win?”

 Lance grinned, cheeky and arrogant, even if he was sporting a fresh blackened eye and a split lip. “That’s the plan. Sooner or later something’s got to stick, right?”

 “Only if you’re looking to get brain damage,” Shiro groused. “You need to learn to fight. This can’t keep going on.”

 “Then teach me, if you’re so worried,” Lance quipped back.

 Shiro narrowed his eyes, swearing that it was only so Lance would stop getting thrown around. When Ulaz had deemed him finished, Lance stood up. Shiro swept a kick at his legs, watching as Lance staggered and then promptly fell flat on his ass. Shiro’s hands came to rest on his hips. Lance looked up at him through his wince.

 “First lesson, your stance sucks.”

 Shiro most certainly did _not_ feel any pride when Lance was able to knock Haxus out. Haxus was just that damn annoying. Anyone would be pleased.

 -

 Lance learned as fast as he spoke. He didn’t always get things on the first go, but he studied hard when he was motivated enough. He committed lessons to heart, ingraining it into his body until his limbs seemed to just move with the forethought.

 Shiro had fully expected Lance to be sloppy and rambunctious, too busy touting himself to really learn anything. Shiro was only partially correct. Where Lance was weak, he was talkative, almost like a cover, a large cloak falling over him as to hide his flaws. Where he was strong, he was confident, quick and sure, not an ounce of hesitation in the snap of his body.

 Mostly, Lance was just unhoned. The groundwork was there, Shiro had realized. It was clumsy, an evidence of self-teaching, of hours spent probably observing and trying to recreate. Shiro knew all too well about those. He had, after all, grown up with someone quite similar. However, where the other had learned through repetition by brawling over countless years and being bull-headed and unyielding, Lance was still fumbling around, new and fresh yet nonetheless unrelenting."

 Shiro had been a hard teacher at first, he was not going to lie about that. Yet, not long after, Shiro found himself strangely humbled. Lance just had that way about him, always catching Shiro off-guard and forcing him to reevaluate things. The first time he had felt a flash of frustration digging into the grooves under his skin, Lance had looked at him and handed him a bottle of water. Then he had said, “Breathe, dude. Remember, patience yields focus.”

 Shiro had been so caught off guard the bottle’s opening had missed his mouth by a mile. He had only realized when he’d splashed himself, cursing under his breath. Lance had chuckled and wiped his face down as Shiro’s own brain short-circuited.

 “Where’d you hear that?” Shiro had muttered.

 “Hm? Oh, you’ve said it to me before, and I know you’ve definitely said it to Keith. But mostly I’ve heard it _from_ Keith. Seems to have really helped him out these days,” Lance said, almost offhandedly. “I mean, if it can help a hothead like Keith, then maybe you could just need it said to _you_ every once in awhile instead of saying it to other people?”

 “Maybe,” Shiro mumbled.

 Their training sessions had gone better after that. Shiro could feel a piece of him untethering, almost as if he had been staked down this whole time, unable to move. (And, really, wasn't he?) He fixed Lance’s stances when he strayed, challenged him and encouraged him, found himself eager and wanting in knowing Lance’s ways, the same way Lance seemed to be with him.

Gone in a handful of months was Lance and his shaky stance. In its place was Lance’s quick fists and streamlined form. He might not have been the strongest opponent, but he was agile, quick-witted, and tactile. The few times Shiro thought he might have been able to take Lance down in their practices had instead found Shiro blinking bewilderedly at the way Lance had evaded him, seamless like the tides, but forceful and deadly, like rushing currents in places Shiro had not thought to keep guarded against Lance.

 Shiro was proud.

The other challengers that had come chasing glory on Zarkon’s list had been mere child’s play for Lance. He had slipped by their fists, long, lean body moving like water. He braced himself just the way Shiro had taught him, absorbing impact and redirecting it back out like a well-honed whip. His lean body had become toned, still wiry and thin, but hardened from diligence. Thace had remarked as much one night after helping Lance up to lean against the bar.

Lance had only winked, a slow movement that seemed more like an aborted blink. “Just call me Sharpshooter,” He had joked. “‘Cuz my fists always hit the mark!”

Despite himself, Shiro couldn’t help the laugh that had bubbled out of him. It had been so genuine and loud, even for how stupid the joke had been. When was the last time he had laughed like this? His belly burned with the ache of it. He clutched at the wood of the counter, his other hand cushioned on Lance’s shoulder.

Below him, Lance stiffened, only just briefly. Then he was melting, his hand coming to rest on Shiro’s elbow as he chuckled softly.  His touch lingered, cupping the scarred skin, his thumb pressing gently along the base of Shiro’s bicep and into the soft skin of his inner elbow. Almost reluctantly, it seemed, Lance drew his hand back. Lance settled himself on a bar stool and pressed his forehead against the cold glass of water Thace had left for him.

Shiro shook his head and fell back against the bar stool next to Lance’s. He slanted a look at Lance, taking in his features.

This time, under the shadow of his long, dark eyelashes, Lance had no black eye, save for a growing bruise on the side of his sleek jaw. It might have almost been a biting kiss the way it hugged the almost curve of his cheek. Even his nose had gone unbroken. Under the dim bar lights, Shiro could still make out the faintest smattering of freckles, sparse but there. Lance’s short brown hair had grown a little longer than Shiro had remembered and his bangs stuck to his forehead with sweat.

Shiro didn’t know when the shift had come, when he could look at Lance and not feel annoyance filling up inside of him like a too-full glass. He didn’t know how much of that annoyance had simply been his own stubbornness and resignation about being Galra property and how much had simply been how he and Lance had not been able to synchronize on their first meeting.

It wasn’t for the want of trying on Lance’s part, Shiro knew that much. Lance had moved heaven and earth until he could claw himself onto Shiro’s wavelength, the two of them resounding in a hum like the beginning of a melody. Shiro would hesitate to say that Lance was abrasive now. Passionate, maybe, and determined definitely. Shiro supposed it was all a matter of perspective. He had been so adamant about only viewing the other man one way that he had failed to realize just how many angles and ways there was to Lance, each a new and unexpected thing..

It was startling to think that Lance in every angle made Shiro feel at ease.

Lance turned to him, then, holding his glass up with the beginnings of a cheeky smile on his face. He winced just once because of his bruise before simply smiling the way Shiro had come to associate with Lance when he was looking at Shiro; coy, and yet bold, all at once.

“What?” Shiro asked, voice surprisingly soft.

Lance rolled his head on his shoulders, looking at Shiro sideways. His smile stretch wide, thin lips parting over his teeth, stretching until even his eyes had to close in his fervor.

“I told you I would knock your socks off, big guy,” Lance said.

Shiro’s lip twitched, the corner of his mouth lop-sided and secretive. He took hold of his glass and knocked it against Lance’s.

“You sure did,” Shiro agreed.

-

Shiro’s eyes followed the sleek line of Lance’s body, the way he hunkered down, the lean of his arms poised before him. He dug his feet into the concrete pit, barely shaking with the impact from Ulaz’s punch. Ulaz stepped back. A look of surprise washed over the man’s face for a moment as he eyed Lance, taking in the way his stance didn’t waver like before. Shiro could see the clear lines of Lance’s brown, bare shoulders and the way they rose and fell when he inhaled. He exhaled. Lance leapt, his fist shot out, swinging a wide right. Shiro could see the way Lance was eyeing Ulaz, the way his legs were tensing, the tips of his toes barely meeting the concrete. Ulaz smirked under the knowledge that he had been the one fighting Lance almost solely these past few weeks, dove right into the feint Shiro could feel at his core coming. Ulaz didn’t see the way Lance’s leg had come, curled, moving with his body, and hooking into Ulaz’s side. The other man grunted, trying to ground himself for purchase before Lance’s left elbow struck him down.

A hush fell across the audience. Shiro could even see the way a cigarette fell from one woman’s lips.

Lance heaved a big sigh, stretching his arms out before him. He gave a full body shake, sweat flying and his short hair sticking up in every direction. Below him, Ulaz was wincing around a surprised look. After cracking his neck, Lance looked down towards Ulaz and grinned. He stuck a hand down at him, kneeling a little.

“Hey man, that was a good fight,” Lance said.

Ulaz lurched, a laugh forcing itself out of his chest. He threw his head back until the tips of his mohawk might have brushed the ground. Around them, the crowd murmured unsure. Then Ulaz was slapping his hand into Lance’s hand and allowing himself to be drawn up. Lance stumbled trying to drag Ulaz’s larger weight, protesting when the older man deliberately dropped his weight just to make him struggle. Ulaz threw his arms around Lance’s shoulder and dug his knuckles into the middle of Lance’s head, holding on tight so he couldn’t slip free.

It wasn’t until they were exiting the ring that the crowd had erupted in cheers. They clamored, screaming amongst each other of money lost and the miming the way Lance had struck Ulaz. They pointed to him, amazed.  A small man Shiro had come to know as Jerry popped his way out from amongst the crowds, grabbing stacks of cash as he laughed. He saluted Lance who, from under Ulaz’s armpit, abortively saluted back. Lance swiveled his head under Ulaz’s grip and strained to look up at Shiro. Shiro didn’t hesitate to smile at him.

“Nice work, Sharpshooter,” Shiro said. He laid a hand to Lance’s head, ruffling his hair despite the sweat.

It was worth it to see the way Lance’s smile had appeared, body lax and goopy until even Ulaz had complained that he was the one who had been injured.

Behind them, at the bar, Sendak snapped a glass in his fist.

-

Lance had always fashioned himself a pretty tactful person. If you couldn’t finish what you did today, come back and try again tomorrow. Hardwork and perseverance had always been down home lessons for him. It had been the most important thing his family had drilled into his brain growing up, truly. If you wanted something, you had to work for it. If you worked for it, you had to give it your all. Nothing worth doing was worth doing half-assed.

Lance couldn’t admit to always living by that rule. There were many things he’d liked and wanted growing up. But they weren’t always things he felt he wanted to go the extra mile for. Until the Garrison.

Lance had worked hard. Even if it had never seemed so, in the face of his jokes and bravado, the way he carried himself and mouthed off, when push came to shove, Lance was more than devoted. He had made piloting his whole world. He tore through books and manuals, recited and sang information to himself until it was burned into his brain. He had never been a good note writer or test taker, but the information and the know-how were there. The results may have varied, but Lance knew that no one could deny that he had earned his rankings.

Too bad wants and reality didn’t always align.

Hard work sometimes just didn’t triumph over talent. No matter how hard he pushed, tried, reached - it didn’t always work. There was a lot of raw talent at the Garrison. Lance knew bias when he saw it, too.

It had been a sleepy Wednesday, then. Because of exams, and the impending Kerberos project, it had been one of the rarer days that they had ruled classes as only a half-day. Lance had bombed his test, even though he knew the answers. He had messed up, bubbled in everything one answer down. If he had just not missed a question, he would have aced it. That was what probably hurt the most.

Lance had hidden out at the back of the flight hangars. He had curled in on himself with his knees pulled up against his chest and his arms hugging himself tightly. His test lay crumpled in his unzipped bag. From his hide-out, he could see just inside the hangar through a little hole. In it, from time to time, Lance would peek in on the Garrison pilots and engineers, watch as they ran their hands over the sleek engines of the planes and space cruisers, and try and imagine himself there. Lance rested his head against the side of the building. Beside him, he could hear the rustle of his test paper flapping in his bag as a breeze pushed past.

 Lance swallowed, pulling his lips inwards when his upper lip began to tremble. Lance felt a rush of cold wash over inside of him, turbulent and unrelenting. In a few hours he was supposed to be calling his mother and the rest of his family. He dreaded the inevitable “I told so-and-so about you at the Garrison, making us so proud” because it wasn’t so. It wasn’t at all that way. The pride in his mother’s voice, the excited overlay of his siblings fighting to take the phone and tell them they missed him. His father chiming in the background how they were going to be sending up care packages because they knew he was spending all of his times on studies. Nevermind he had snuck out at least three times in the past week alone, too wound up tight with all the rules and regulations and missing seeing the sky from more than just a classroom window. Nevermind the lectures in the principle’s office and the threats to tell his parents. Nevermind his failing grades, the wall he hit.

He couldn’t tell his family.

Lance rested his forehead against the inside of his wrist. He curled up tight into himself and tried to keep back the words he knew would break his heart.

I’m never going to get into fighter class,” Lance muttered.

“What makes you say that?”

Lance jolted, his head striking the side of the hangar. Groaning, Lance took his head between his hands. Through his fingers he managed to look up and spotted Takashi Shirogane.

Lance felt all the color drain from his face. His eyes lingered on the style of Shirogane’s uniform that marked him as a teacher - the youngest at the Garrison in a long time - and  his name badge. _Shirogane_ was printed boldly on the breast pocket just below the Galaxy Garrison logo. Shirogane cocked an eyebrow. There was an expectant look on his face. Lance shot up to his feet, doing a quick salute before looking down at his feet.

“Mr. Shirogane, uh, sir,” Lance stammered. “Fancy meeting you here?”

“Don’t call me that,” Shirogane gently admonished. “I’m  probably like - two years older than you. Makes me feel weirdly ancient if you call me mister.”

Lance flashed a quick look up at Shirogane. Shirogane smiled, a slow, easy stretch of his lips. He settled his hands on his hips and fixed Lance with a look.

"Call me Shiro,” Shirogane said.

“Uh,” Lance answered. “Fancy seeing you here - Shiro?”

Shirogane - Shiro -  smirked wryly, tilting his head down to at the little hole in the hangar where Lance had been peeking into. Then he looked back at Lance. He crossed his arms over his broad chest and let both eyebrows raise high up on his forehead.

“Is that right?” Shiro wondered aloud.

Lance rubbed the back of his neck. A million excuses popped up in his head and yet none of them seemed feasible enough. Lance would have loved to mouth off something ridiculous, play it off as goofy like he usually would do. Something like, “I got lost in your eyes” or “I’m just following my destiny” and then giving Shiro a over the top sultry look would have been a usual move. (It hadn’t worked so good on Professors Yoo and Garcia, but.)

“What’s this about not making fighter class?” Shiro asked instead of giving Lance more time to say something.

Lance stiffened. His mouth felt far too dry, and he didn’t dare look back up at Shiro. Lance studied the weeds breaking through the concrete, the cracks branching out from underneath his shoes. If he willed it hard enough maybe he could just disappear in thin air and Shiro would forget he had even seen him. He heard the rustle of Shiro’s uniform and assumed that maybe the other boy had uncrossed his arms.

“What’s your name, cadet?” Shiro asked.

Lance hesitated. “McClain,” Lance told him.

Shiro shook his head. “First name, cadet,” Shiro said. The wry grin from before came back on his face. “There’s no need for formalities here.”

“Lance,” Lance muttered.

“Lance McClain, huh?” Shiro repeated. “You the kid Keith says is always bugging him?”

Lance whipped his head around. “I do not bug him! I _challenge_ him, thank you! Someone has to knock his high and mighty mullet off the-” Lance screwed his mouth shut. The heat from his cheeks could have made rocket thrusters jealous.

“Yup, you’re Lance alright,” Shiro said, laughing. “So, tell me, _Lance_ , what’s this about fighter class?”

Lance fell back against the hangar’s wall. He looked to his shoes. He dug the tip of one shoe into the heel of his other one.

“Lance?” Shiro called gently.

Lance squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip. “I’m- I’m not doing so hot. Which must be like a surprise, you know? I bet Keith tells you all about how awesome I am considering how jealous he is of me,” Lance joked. His tongue felt heavy. “But, believe it or not, this totally-amazing-slash-handsome guy...doesn’t really have what it takes to even be at the Garrison.”

“What makes you say that?” Shiro asked.

Lance chuckled despite himself. “You sure ask a lot of questions. I didn’t really peg you for a nosy kind of guy.”

“Oh, no?” Shiro asked, grinning slyly when Lance glanced up at him.

 Lance ducked his head down again and tried to hide his smile. It was easy work when he carefully considered his next words. It jumbled around inside of him, twisting this way and that and unable to properly form itself in sentences Lance thought Shiro might understand. Hunk would know how to decipher his word waterfall. But Shiro -

“Just- it’s just- I’m not _talented_. I’m just _Lance McClain_. I mean yeah, I’m pretty good. I’d even say pretty great! But not in the way the Garrison seems to want,” Lance explained. “And, dude, I suck so bad at tests.”

“Like, the problem isn’t the information! I can always get down the gist of what I need to. I got a pretty good head for remembering the important stuff and thinking stuff up on the fly,” Lance continued. “But when I sit down and take the tests, it’s like I never saw a book in my life.”

Lance scuffed his shoe on the floor.

“We took a test today,” Lance added. “I bombed. So bad. Like, I think my grandkids are going to be feeling it. How am I going to explain this to my folks? They’re always going on about how proud I’m making them but - _I’m not_!”

Lance rested his face into the inside of his wrist, trying to calm his breathing. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Shiro.

“All I want is to be a fighter pilot. Always have,” Lance whispered. “Like, I know cargo pilots are important, too. Cargo pilots are what really keep things going. But just - I just -”

Lance gulped too fast, vision hazing over as a fresh batch of tears found their ways at his eyes. He could feel a hot rush of shame overtaking him. The one time, _the one and only time_ he got to meet his hero, and this is how he acted. Who broke down in front of their heroes like that?

A gentle pressure rested on Lance’s shoulders. It pressed down just the barest touch, warm and sure even through the thick material of his uniform coat. From where he was looking down, Lance could see Shiro’s own feet, just a few inches away from his own. Without thinking twice, he looked up at Shiro.

Shiro’s eyes were drawn low over his eyes. He looked pensive, unreadable. Shiro’s gaze flickered for a second at where he was holding Lance by his shoulders before coming back to Lance’s face once again.

“I need you to breathe, Lance,” Shiro said. “Yes, that’s it. In - out. One at a time. Good, good.”

Lance did as he was told. He hesitantly reached up to hold onto Shiro from the inside of his elbows. Shiro didn’t shake him off when he did. Shiro patted the side of Lance’s cheek when he thought he seemed calm enough.

“First of all, just because you can’t take tests doesn’t mean you aren’t cut out for fighter class. Nor does it mean you aren’t meant to be here,” Shiro said. “It’s just as you said, Garrison’s nothing without its cargo pilots.”

Lance scrunched his nose up, turning to look away. Shiro intercepted, twisting until no matter which way Lance tried to look, he was there in Lance’s line of sight. Lance fixed him with a half-hearted glare.

“You’re worth more than you think you are, Lance. Give yourself some credit,” Shiro stated. “If you can’t believe in yourself then, believe in the me that believes in you.” Shiro grinned.

Lance’s jaw dropped. He rubbed at his eyes before staring at Shiro in shock again. Shiro’s grin only grew wider. Just before Lance could blurt something out, Shiro placed a hand over his mouth. His other hand still held onto Lance’s shoulder idly.

“More importantly,” Shiro began. “Be patient with yourself. Patience yields focus. My dad told me that a lot. If you’re really that determined about something, then it’ll work out one way or another. Just be patient and keep going. Got it?”

Lance nodded from behind Shiro’s hand. Shiro nodded back. He retracted his hand and stepped back. He waited the few minutes it took for Lance to collect himself before Shiro was standing in Garrison precision form.

“Cadet McClain,” Shiro said, voice firm and authoritative. It made Lance jump and salute on impulse. “I expect that you will be doing your best to achieve fighter class from here on out?”

“I - Yes, sir, Captain Shirogane, sir!” Lance squeaked.

“Then, I expect you to be walking back to those dorms to study, Cadet! Also, I suggest consulting Professor Garcia on how to improve your test-taking,” Shiro said, adding the last part in a slightly gentler tone. “Hup-to, Cadet!”

Lance saluted again before reaching down to sling his bag over his shoulder. He struggled with the zipper of the big pouch before it managed to close. He began walking off before he stopped and turned to look back at Shiro.

“Thank you, Cap - ah, Shiro,” Lance said. “I really appreciate it.”

Shiro grinned. “Go on, then, be great.”

Lance nodded, failing to fight back a wobbly smile before he was running full speed back to the freshman barracks. His bag jumped against his back, the soles of his feet squeaking against the floor of the hallways. Inside, he managed to narrowly avoid running into a few people, Iverson’s voice flying his way as he kept going.

Lance touched the tip of his shoulder, the ghost of Shiro’s touch still there. He would repay Shiro one day.

-

It was as Lance’s father had always taught him. Never do anything half-assed if it’s worth it. This was why he’d tried for fighter class. He may not have gotten it, but he was the best damn cargo pilot in that whole Garrison. He didn’t half ass it. And he wasn’t going to half ass this.

Lance glared down at Sendak from where the bigger man was forcing him up against the wall. Sendak held him by the collar of his shirt, dangling Lance until his legs were a good foot from the ground, the hard brick of the back alley digging into his back.

Whatever words and threats Sendak might have thrown his way, whatever the force and ferocity of his punches, the ache and pain in his body, the way his eye was threatening to swell shut, Lance was not going to give in. Lance dug his fingers into the meat of Sendak’s hand and fixed him with the strongest glare he could muster.

“I’m only here for Shiro,” Lance said. “Not even your ugly mug is going to stop me from taking him out of here!”

Sendak snarled, forcing Lance farther against the wall. He raised prosthetic arm Zarkon had given him in the air and smashed the old brick by Lance’s head.

“We’ll see about that,” Sendak seethed. “You think _you_ can get the Champion out of here? Zarkon owns him, he owns everything. There’s nothing you can do.”

Lance scowled. “Just you wait,” he said.

“I’m going to have fun breaking you, _boy_ ,” Sendak said.

He dropped Lance, spit at him, and then stormed his way back into Club Galra.

Lance exhaled loudly. From down in the dirty mess of gutter water, cigarette, and trash, he looked up at the sky, at the few stars trying to peek out from the haze of the light and smoke around the area.

“I’m going down swinging,” Lance vowed to himself. He picked himself up off the ground and hobbled back towards the club.

-

Shiro should have known something was wrong when Sendak had set his dark gaze on him. Shiro’s eyes zeroed in on the raw skin of his knuckle. Sendak wiped harshly at his face with the ruined hand. There was a flash of gold as Sendak sneered at Shiro.

"I met your puppy, Champion,” Sendak started. He stopped right in front of Shiro, leering down from the wide barrel of his chest. Shiro felt terror strike through him. “It’s almost adorable how much you care for that pathetic little whelp.”

“Sendak,” Shiro said slowly. “What did you do to Lance?”

Sendak’s sneer took on a dangerous half-smile. He bent, the stink of lingering cigarettes hazing around him. Shiro forced himself not to look away. Sendak held up his knuckle, the raw skin of it nearly touching Shiro.

“Nothing he didn’t deserve,” Sendak said. “Here is some advice, _Champion_. Weakness is an infection. You better destroy it before Zarkon finds out.”

Sendak pushed past Shiro, deliberately letting their shoulders knock. He looked back at Shiro. “This is my last warning for you. Get rid of him or I will.”

It wasn’t until Sendak had disappeared amongst the throng of patrons and the crowd that Shiro had realized he had forgotten how breathe through the whole exchange. He let out a shuddering breath, the whole of his chest still burning as if he’d run a marathon. Shiro looked towards the bar door leading to the alleyway and didn’t hesitate to race through. The door hit the opposite wall with a bang as Shiro bounded through. It didn’t take long for him to spot Lance, struggling to stand farther into the alleyway.

“Lance,” Shiro called, running towards him. “Lance!”

Lance looked up at him. Shiro could see the way Lance’s lip was split by the way he was grinning the moment his eyes settled on Shiro. When Lance’s knees buckled, Shiro leapt forward towards him. Shiro took Lance up from under his arms, propping him up against the wall as he moved him around to pull Lance’s arm around his shoulders. Even with all the muscle Lance had built up, he was still so thin under Shiro’s big hand where he was cupping him on his side. Lance groaned when Shiro walked them forward. He dropped his head down against Shiro’s clavicle, muttering about Sendak. Shiro looked down, watching Lance’s legs bow, twisting like they were made of jelly, his whole body sagging with exhaustion. Lance exhaled loudly.

Shiro swallowed. “Lance. You can’t keep doing this,” Shiro murmured.

“What do you mean? I had that big jerk on the run the whole time,” Lance joked. He hissed when Shiro tried to help him up the small step into the bar.

“I’m serious here. Sendak will actually kill you, he doesn’t care. He knows we’re - we’re friends. He’s only doing this to you because of me,” Shiro argued.

“That just means he’s insecure. You leave him to me. When I get him in the ring, I’ll teach him a lesson,” Lance said.

Shiro settled Lance down in a chair in the back room of the bar. Lance sunk into it with an appreciative grunt, rubbing a hand over his nose. Shiro knelt before him, taking him in. Lance’s eye was swelling shut, his cheek was bruised, he was dirty and grimy, and a suspiciously large bruise across his collarbones was starting to peek through. He hadn’t looked like this since he’d first come to the Galra Underground Club.

“Lance, I think you need to stop this,” Shiro told him.

Lance cracked a grin. Shiro couldn’t understand how he still could smile with everything, with Sendak’s hands having left marks on him, with how Shiro had let this happen. Shiro wanted to look away.

“This feels like a familiar conversation,” Lance said, humming. “But I think my answer is still the same. I’m not going anywhere without you.”

“I was stupid to not chase you off the first time. I thought you would just give up when you saw what you were up against. But now you’ve got Sendak’s attention on you because of me. I never wanted that to happen to you,” Shiro said.

He didn’t dare touch Lance. “Lance, please. Just go.”

Lance fixed him with a look. It was pensive, considering. He drew his eyebrows down and didn’t look away from Shiro as he leaned forward. Lance rested his hands to Shiro’s shoulders. Lance pressed his hands down, his thin fingers pressing down lightly into Shiro’s skin.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Lance said gently. “Especially not without you.”

“Lance-“

“I know you don’t believe that I’ll be able to beat Sendak. But I will. I promise,” Lance said. Then, slyly, he added, “Just believe in the me that believes in me.”

A flash of colors exploded in Shiro’s head, rushing fast like currents. He had to squeeze his eyes shut just to keep from bending over at the sheer force of it all. Lance’s hands kept him grounded. Shiro dared a look up at Lance. Lance poked a bony finger into Shiro’s chest.

“I’m gonna kick Sendak’s butt then I’m gonna kick _your_ butt,” Lance said, simply. “Then! We’re gonna get out of here and have a couple smoothies. Sound good?”

Shiro covered his mouth with a hand. His shoulders shook under Lance’s grip. Above him, Lance’s eyes widened, a look of mild panic flitting over his features. One had raised up off of Shiro’s shoulders, unsure, before settling back down again.

“Uh, Shiro? Oh, man did I mess up? Oh geez-”

Shiro shook his head, letting his hand drop to reveal the big smile he had hidden. He looked up at Lance through the crinkle of his eyes, his shoulders heaving with barely contained laughter. Lance jutted his bottom lip out, looking only mildly affronted.

“This is how my kindness is repaid, I can’t believe this,” Lance muttered.

Shiro shook his head. He dropped his forehead down on Lance’s knee as he tried to collect himself. Shiro turned his head, stealing a look at Lance. Lance’s lips twitched, fighting to smile despite how hard he was forcing himself to frown.

“You really know how to catch me off guard,” Shiro said. “Every time.”

Lance leaned back in his chair. “Well, that’s the kind of guy I am. Lance McClain, suave, handsome, full of surprises.”

“I’m grateful,” Shiro admitted. He sat back on the floor. “I know I owe this to you. I'm sorry for how I treated you. We both know I was in a bad place, but it still doesn't excuse that. But I'm grateful that you never gave up on me. You finally gave me hope again. So, you better win, Sharpshooter. I’m believing in you after all.”

The smile Lance gave him was _dazzling_. It stretched wide, tinged just the slightest with a hint of bashfulness and all the unhinged fervor and excitement of someone unable to hide their happiness. Shiro felt himself smiling in return. It was hard to think that he had once found Lance annoying, had wanted nothing to do with him. The idea that Lance had even seen him as being a hero was even more unfathomable. Shiro couldn’t deny that Lance certainly had looked up to him. Shiro, as egotistical as it may have been, had been a pretty good role model for the other students at the Garrison.

Now, though, Shiro wouldn’t hesitate to say that Lance might actually be the real hero of this whole ordeal. Lance with his big heart and vibrant ways, passionate inside and out. Shiro wasn’t going to lie that he was scared of how the fight with Sendak would go. Sendak was a force to be reckoned with. Shiro himself had only just barely won the fight that had earned him the Champion title. Lance had his work cut out for him.

Shiro also knew that once Lance put his mind to something there was no stopping it.

Lance would win, Shiro was sure. Lance would win and then they would face off against each other. It made Shiro more excited than he thought he would be.

-

Lance looked at the address Thace had written him again. Lance had not expected anything less than extravagant, but it might have even bordered on gaudy by the looks of it. The golden-colored gates, the large cursive L’s decorating the insides of the gate. Lance could just about make out the large house far down the front driveway. It was an ugly shade of purple, but Lance wondered if maybe that was a hereditary trait.

A part of Lance still wanted to turn back around and leave. Surely he could find other solutions. But he didn’t think any of them, each one a little more outrageous than the last if he was being honest, wouldn’t have worked. He had personally gone through the trouble of meeting with and trying to endear himself to Allura at Altea Tech. He definitely owed Hunk and Pidge a ton after they’d come and vouched for him. It always helped to have a friend or two interning at one of the best prosthetics and robotics companies.

It was worth it, Lance thought, reaffirming it to himself. It was worth running around, proving himself, and swearing Pidge and Hunk to keep Keith in the dark a little longer. It was worth the weird looks Shiro was giving Lance when he couldn’t stick around to spar or knock back a drink these days. It was worth begging Thace and Ulaz to get him an in. It was worth worrying and second guessing himself up until now.

 _Anything worth doing isn’t worth doing half-assed_ , Lance told himself.

Lance unlocked his phone and brought Allura’s number up on the screen. He pocketed his phone again. Lance inhaled and then exhaled loudly. Now or never. He touched the intercom button.

The mini screen there crackled, Antok’s sleepy face coming into view. The large man broke out into a smile when he spotted Lance. He gave an uproarious laugh.

“Little Blue, you’re a sight for sore eyes. Bring any lunch?” Antok greeted. “What brings you here?”

Lance grinned back, a little uncertain. “Hey Antok, my man. I’m actually here to see Lotor. Thace sent me.”

Antok straightened up. His face grew solemn, all hard lines and previous excitement gone. Antok looked over his shoulder for a moment before he said in a low voice, “Password?”

Lance typed it into the keypad. A minute went by before the keypad flashed green and the gates were slowly creaking open. Antok gave a barely perceptible nod before his image was blanking out.

Lance took a breath and went in.

 - 

Shiro wondered if he should have ever hoped that Lance would win.

Looking back, Shiro had wished with all his heart that he hadn’t let Lance’s easy going attitude and ability to smile through just about anything sway him as it had. It would have been better if Shiro had never humored him in the first place, let him sit with him at Thace’s bar, and let Lance weasel his way under Shiro’s protective walls.

Shiro had been doing just fine before Lance, maybe not happy and maybe not whole, but fine. After everything with the Garrison accident, losing his arm, most of his memories, and falling under Zarkon’s command, it wasn’t as if Shiro was expecting anything better. He had been too afraid this whole time of cherishing something too much that he’d inevitably mess it up. He wasn’t exactly leading a great and rewarding life outside of scraping by enough to make it to the next day. Which was why he’d been the way he had.

Shiro had went and messed things up anyway.

From the beginning, Sendak had been vicious.  It was startling to see the stark difference between them. Where Lance was lean but strong, Sendak was all size and muscle. His arms might have even been the size of Lance’s whole body. The only other person that could have beat Sendak in a size competition might have been Antok. Sendak hadn’t even waited for the ref to finish telling them that the match had began when he’d already begun advancing on Lance. He had thrown a punch, messy and full of power and just enough to throw Lance off as he staggered back, trying to quickly get into a defensive position.

Sendak’s eye flickered, kicking out at Lance’s torso, and clutching both hands together as he swung them down, down, down. Dropping to the floor, Lance clawed his way through Sendak’s legs. Lance tried to sweep his legs out from under him, only to have to throw himself into a roll, wincing as Sendak’s fist came down against the concrete of the pit, the metal of his massive prosthetic arm scrapping against concrete. Lance had only just gotten to his feet again before he was throwing his hands up into a block.

“You think you can stand before me? Before Zarkon?” Sendak barked. He leaned back, the lines of his body looking tired. “All for the Champion? Give up now, and I’ll only break one of your arms.”

Lance found it in him to grin, even as he was breathing heavily through his mouth. He wiped at his face with the sleeve of his shirt.

“If I give up, then you won’t get a taste of bofa,” Lance told him.

Sendak furrowed his brows, a growl making him curl his lip.  “What the hell is bofa?”

Lance leapt, swinging right before slamming his left elbow into Sendak’s nose. The bigger man wobbled, eyes knocking around in his head as he tried to focus in on Lance. Lance grinned triumphantly.

“Bofa deez fists!” He yelled, punching back at Sendak until he was threatening to fall backwards out of the ring.

Sendak swung the back of his fist at Lance, stepped forward and threw another heavy punch with his other arm. The force of it was like watching an anchor swinging wildly, the weight of it driving straight towards Lance.

Lance only narrowly sidestepped. Shiro could see the flash of fear on his face, clouding over his eyes and making him seem so small and young in that instant. Sendak latched onto it, throwing his weight until Lance could nothing but back up, unable to wind up to attack.

The blow Sendak delivered to Lance might as well have been an earthquake the way it shook across Lance’s whole body. Shiro could see the way Lance’s knees were threatening to give out. Even with how good his stance had come, the resolute way he’d held himself, Sendak had blasted through Lance’s defence with terrifying ease. Every time Lance tried to block, Sendak broke through, knocking Lance back until he was barely fighting to stay within the pit. A couple times he collided straight into the crowd, cradled briefly by Jerry who looked back at Sendak with absolute terror before hesitantly pushing Lance back into the fight.

Next to Shiro, Ulaz was deafeningly quiet. He wasn’t a loud person by nature, mirrored effectively in his fighting style. But the rigid set of his shoulders and jaw made Shiro know he was forcing himself not to yell for Lance. Shiro himself was barely hanging onto that thought.

Shiro watched Lance hit the ground, landing on his elbow. On his temple, Shiro could see the way Sendak’s knuckle had nicked away at the skin. It would scar. Sweat from his hair fell into Lance’s eye. He rubbed at it furiously, squinting a look at Sendak, who only walked towards him with a sneer. Lance tried to rise up on both elbows. Sendak placed the heel of his toes under Lance’s chin, grinning under the florescent lights of the fighting pit. He mouthed something like “failure” at Lance before he dropped his foot heavily to Lance’s chest. Lance’s hands flew up to grab at Sendak’s ankle, struggling as Sendak leaned his full weight on the other man. Shiro felt his heart jump into his throat.

“You’re even weaker than I imagined,” Sendak taunted. He pressed down harder, smiling manically as Lance coughed and tried to twist his way out with no luck. “How ever you managed to get yourself to this level doesn’t matter. I’ll send you back to the trash pit you truly belong in.”

Sendak twisted his foot, digging down harder. Shiro could see Lance gritting his teeth, his eyes screwed tight in an effort to not break before Sendak’s eyes, to give him the satisfaction of his pain. His hands scrambled for purchase along the big man’s pant leg, tugging and clawing equally at the concrete floor of the pit. Lance shook his head violently side to side as Sendak continued to taunt him.

Shiro felt like the entirety of his head had gone quiet. His ears had closed off and everything was narrowing down just at Lance. He couldn’t feel his limbs, his thoughts. He wasn’t even sure if he was standing. Time had seemed to slow impossibly, each attempt Lance made creaking by before Shiro’s eyes. He wanted to run through the crowds, but his legs wouldn’t move. He wanted to slam his fist into Sendak’s face, push him off of Lance and yell for Ulaz to take him away like he should have done months ago. Shiro’s whole body felt heavy, unable to decipher the mismatching thoughts swirling inside of him.

“Never step foot in this place again,” Sendak snarled.

Sendak raised his foot only just barely away from Lance’s chest, the whole of his body thrumming with violence. Shiro could see the way he was pivoting, the way he was getting ready to swing his weight onto his foot. Shiro leapt forward. Lance swung one of his arms wide, catching at the back of Sendak’s knee. He pulled with all the strength he had before twisting and snaking his leg up between Sendak’s and weaving it around it. Holding him tight, Lance threw his body to the side and took Sendak down with him.

Shiro had only just about reached the side of the pit when he watched Sendak’s body hit the concrete floor. The sound reverberated, hushing the crowd for the barest of moments before they were erupting again. Across the ring Shiro had only just spotted Jerry leaping into someone’s arms with a whoop. Lance hurriedly got to his feet and put distance between himself and Sendak.

Sendak slowly lifted his head up from the ground, the entirety of his face dark, his normally slicked back hair wild along his forehead. He rose to his feet and eyed Lance before roaring and charging towards him.

Sendak swung back, pivoting with all his weight, putting it all into the force of his punch and closed in on Lance. Lance opened his arms wide. His face was unreadable, narrowed only on Sendak. Shiro could feel his breath catching, yelling for Lance to move as he stayed rooted to the spot. Shiro watched Sendak’s fist descending.

Lance tipped back - and caught Sendak’s entire arm against his torso. Lance twisted on his feet, used the momentum of his body, and sent Sendak flying over his shoulder and through the crowd and into the side of the bar. It happened in a mere couple of seconds in such quick succession, Shiro was unsure of how much he might have missed when he blinked. Thace’s eyes bugged from over the counter top. Sendak didn’t move, his dead weight heavy against the floor. The ref touched the side of his neck, confirming that he was out cold. Then, hesitantly, the ref mumbled Lance’s name in victory.

For the second time since he’d come to the fight club, Lance had shocked the audience into silence. Shiro was crossing into the pit before he could think otherwise, throwing his arms around Lance and pulling him into a hug. He pressed his forehead into the junction between Lance’s neck and shoulder, digging his fingers into Lance’s sides so he couldn’t get away, so Shiro could know he was really still standing in one pieces before him. Shiro could feel the way Lance’s arms were shaking. He carefully wrapped his arms around Shiro and hugged back.

To the side, Jerry said Lance’s name once, then he was yelling it, the entire crowd screaming over each other.

Lance dropped his forehead to Shiro's shoulder. “Looks like it’s just you and me left, big guy.”

“Yeah. Seems so.”

He didn’t let go of Lance until Ulaz had come to pry him away, telling him Thace wanted to patch their friend up.

-

Lance had never seen Zarkon before, but he could see the family resemblance between him and Lotor. If it wasn’t the clear look of wealth on him, it was the shape of his face. The set of the jaw, the eyes, and the air of power that followed him were all Zarkon, and Lotor had inherited it. Lance could practically smell money frothing off of Zarkon like a chemical spill. Even with this expensive suit, crisp and unblemished, Zarkon still managed to fit in into the grit of the fight club. It was daunting and frightening. Lance had never had stage fright before, but now, watching Zarkon seat himself, and the wide berth the crowd naturally gave him, Lance was unnaturally scared.

Shiro didn’t seem so. Lance would guess that it was because Shiro had been here long enough to know where he stood. He didn’t miss the way Shiro had gone rigid the first moment he’d seen Zarkon walk in, though. After that, Shiro had simply shut down, indecipherable.

Lance had watched Shiro’s matches over the last couple months. He had studied the way his body had moved and reacted, the way he’d switch effortlessly from Shiro to Champion when his feet hit the ring. Lance was unsure of which he might get when the ref called the match in. It had been intimidating in the beginning to see a guy Lance had always thought, and known however briefly, as being sweet-tempered and amicable turn into a force capable of taking down a hurricane.

It had twinged something nasty in Lance at first. The pure rage that had blindsided him at first that left Lance nearly sick at the way this place had transformed Shiro, had forged this version of him. Once Lance had stepped back, though, he knew that the place hadn’t changed Shiro so much as Shiro had let it change him. It didn’t stop the gross feeling, though. Lance doubted it ever would.

Lance looked over at Shiro. He watched Shiro wrapping his hands in boxing tape, his face grave. Lance quietly did the same. When Lance looked up again, Shiro was looking back at him. Before Lance could send a quip, the ref was striding into the pit.

He called for them to assume position, briefly explained the rules, probably for show on Zarkon’s part, before he was yelling for the match to begin and was hurrying from the ring.

Lance watched Shiro sidestepping, following suit as they walked in a tight circle around each other. Each time Shiro’s eyes flickered, his arms seem to twitch or shift, Lance felt his hackles rise. A shadowy expression crossed over Shiro’s face. Lance wondered, if he were close enough, if he might be able to see himself in Shiro’s eyes. Shiro lunged.

Shiro delivered a startling blow, his metal arm rocketing upwards, almost clipping Lance under his chin. Lance reeled around, bracing an arm as Shiro aimed a knee towards him. It hit the palm of his hand, stinging, as Shiro wound up again for another strike. He punched out, forcing Lance to shift, clipping him with a lightning fast strike to the back of his knees. Lance hooked his arm around Shiro’s neck before he fell back. Shiro’s eyes widened, concentration momentarily broken as Lance grinned, delivering a sweeping kick that knocked Shiro flat on his back. A couple of the patrons covered their mouths, whispering and pointing. Lance backed up, nodding towards Shiro.

“Come on, show me what you got,” Lance told him in a low voice.

Shiro rose to his feet. He stretched out his shoulder and assumed position again. He motioned with his chin at Lance. Lance exhaled and charged. He swiped right, was blocked, swiped left and was shoved back. Lance advanced again, stepping close, aiming high with his fist. He nicked Shiro on the jaw, getting only a grunt in response as the other man slammed a palm to his abdomen. Lance doubled over, hissing air in through his teeth. Lance saw Shiro’s knee coming towards his chin, both of Shiro’s arms raised high. Both of Lance’s teeth clacked together with the strength of it. Shiro’s arms flew down, aiming for Lance’s shoulders. Before they hit, Shiro hesitated, enough so that Lance could slam a foot into Shiro’s thigh. He backed up.

Lance squinted, watching Shiro bring his fists up before him again. The dark cloud that had settled on his face seemed to be clearing. Lance could still see the storm that brewed across his features, suffocating the other man. Lance charged again, ducking under a punch and tackling Shiro to the ground. They hit the concrete, hard, Shiro’s hands flying down to cradle his head as Lance wound up to punch. Shiro blocked each strike, fighting to buck Lance off. It interrupted Lance enough that he left himself open, and found himself flipped harshly onto the concrete. Shiro dug his knee into Lance’s stomach, pulled his metal arm back and struck - the floor.

Lance exhaled, the sound of his breath the only sound between them. A flash of hurt struck across Shiro’s face for a tick. Lance pushed him off too easily. The both of them rolled away, a scant few feet between them. Lance frowned, watching the way Shiro’s hands were faltering to stay up. A tendril of anger shot through Lance, hot and rapid. He dropped his stance and balled his fists up as he stared at Shiro from down the length of his nose.

“Don’t you dare pity me, Takashi Shirogane!” Lance yelled. “Fight me for real!”

“Lance,” Shiro warned, but his voice was so, so tired.

“Believe in me, why don’t you? I made you promise and I plan to keep it,” Lance cried, stomping a foot. Shiro’s hands lowered for a moment, eyes widening. Lance tilted his chin up. “So, don’t you dare hold back!”

He watched Shiro close his eyes, the rise and fall of his shoulders before his dark brown eyes were settling on Lance, burning. The ghost of a grin flashed across his face. Lance grinned back, adrenaline quick and loud inside of him.

“There he is,” Lance said to himself.

They took one, two steps, and then swung out at each other. Lance bent with the force of the blow, he threw himself back, bringing his fist with him. Shiro blocked, throwing his arm back and striking in one motion. Lance slapped at the arm, brought his knee around to strike into Shiro’s side. Shiro rocked but didn’t stumble. He blocked Lance’s arm with his metal one, smirking at the hiss of pain Lance elicited. Lance wheeled, bringing his leg around in a high kick, only barely grazing over Shiro’s shoulder as the other man leaned away, his arm coming up to grab Lance by the leg and hold him there. Lance felt a flash of panic, watching as Shiro brought his elbow down to strike at his shin. Lance leapt as best he could and kicked into Shiro’s stomach. The other man grunted but otherwise remained standing, letting go of Lance’s leg. Lance fell to the floor.

“Okay,” Lance said around a rough breath. He grinned, “You’re good.”

“You think they call me Champion because I’m not?” Shiro teased.

“Best poster boy out of everyone here if you ask me,” Lance shot back.

Shiro kicked down, with Lance only narrowly managing to split his legs to avoid it. Lance crisscrossed both legs around Shiro’s shin, twisting his body until Shiro’s knee hit the pit floor. Lance shot up, grasping Shiro up under his torso and around his neck. Lance locked his legs around Shiro.

Shiro flung himself back, digging Lance’s back into the concrete. He thrust his elbow back abortively as Lance dug his fingers in to keep a hold on Shiro. Shiro’s metal hand tugged harshly on Lance’s forearm, only just making Lance’s grip slide. Shiro bit down into his lip. Lance could feel his heart hammering in his chest. He was so close. His arms were screaming for him to let go, but he couldn’t. He dug the heels of his feet into Shiro’s thighs, feeling the way Shiro’s bare feet shifted wildly on the floor. Lance pressed his forehead into the back of Shiro’s head. Lance wasn’t sure how long he had held on, but a part of him didn’t ever want to let go.

“I got you,” Lance said. “I promise, I got you.”

Lance felt went the fight rushed out of Shiro. His body sagged bonelessly until he was just a warm weight against Lance. Shiro dislodged his metal hand and tapped the fingers against the concrete pit.

“Victory, McClain!” The ref called.

Lance let go, both arms flying out in an eagle spread. Shiro rolled over, his back to Lance as he lay across Lance’s arm, neither moving. Lance turned his head to look at Shiro’s back. He reached out and took Shiro by the shoulder. Shiro looked back at him, smiling tiredly at him. Lance smiled back and pried his hand out from under Shiro’s head and rose to his feet. He held out a hand. Shiro looked up at him, but didn’t hesitate to take his hand and let himself be pulled up. They fell against each other, and Lance clapped Shiro on the back with a cheeky grin.

“Well, let’s get out of here, big guy. I don’t know about you, but I’m really tired,” Lance said.

Lance took Shiro by the wrist and pulled the other man out of the ring. The crowd parted, overlaying voices forgotten as Shiro’s eyes traveled to where Lance was holding onto him. Lance and Shiro stood before the bar, where Lance reached across towards Thace, taking both of their jackets in his hands. He unfolded Shiro’s first, snapping it open before motioning for Shiro to turn. He let Lance help him slide it on, one arm at a time and pull the jacket neatly taut at the front. Lance pulled on his own jacket, smoothing out the hood and digging around in his pockets. He threw something to Thace. Shiro looked between them, confused. Thace handed Shiro a small first aid kit with a nod.

“Uh, guys?” Shiro asked.

Lance intertwined his arm with Shiro’s, the insides of their elbows interlocked. He looked over his shoulder at Thace and bid him a good night with a grin. He tugged Shiro forward to the exit.

Shiro looked back at Thace, at Lance and felt his jaw working trying to come up with words. He settled on closing his mouth instead. They nearly made it to the stairs before Zarkon had placed the tip of his cane against the wall blocking them. Up close, he was a more massive man than Lance seemed to have realized. Lance’s eyes trailed up, head nearly bending back as he looked up at Zarkon’s dark eyes and the curl of his lip.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Zarkon said, tone suggesting he didn’t actually want an answer. “I believe you’re holding onto my property.”

The corners of Lance’s mouth twitched, pulling downwards. He held himself together anyway. He tightened his grip on Shiro’s arm, his hand protectively covering Shiro’s bicep. Lance’s eyes didn’t part from Zarkon’s, defiant and thunderous. Zarkon bent, eating up the space between the two of them as he addressed Lance. Shiro heard Lance’s phone vibrating in his jacket pocket.

“Sendak may not have been able to teach you a lesson, but I assure you, I am more than capable,” Zarkon articulated.

Lance glanced at Shiro with a quick smile. He looked down to where his phone was still vibrating in his pocket. “Get that for me please?” Lance asked.

Shiro did as he was asked and took out the other man’s phone. He swiped it answer the phone, the name Allura bold on the screen. Shiro put the phone to his ear, and hesitantly answered. Zarkon glowered at them.

“Hello?”

“Hello there,” An accented voice greeted. “Please tell Lance that the _brat_ should be arriving any second now. I’ll be calling Lance tomorrow, by the way. Thank you.”

“Oh uh, sure,” Shiro said. He lowered the phone and turned to Lance. “The, uh, brat is almost here. And you’ll be called tomorrow.”

Lance let a slow smile stretch on his face as he turned back to Zarkon. He stepped aside, bringing Shiro with him and said nothing more than a low, “perfect” to himself. Zarkon flashed a row of teeth, raising his cane in Lance’s direction when a pair of loud footsteps made the three of them look towards the doorway.

Shrugging out of a large coat, far too thick and unnecessary in the encroaching summer heat, and adjusting the cuff links at his wrist, was Lotor. He swept a stray hair back behind his ear and walked past his father into the club. His long white hair was braided faultlessly down his back. Antok bounded down the stairs after him, grumbling under his breath. Antok threw a salute at Lance who saluted back. Shiro had never felt so lost. Lotor removed his sunglasses despite it being night time and looked around, then settled his gaze on Shiro, dragging it over to Lance.

“Good to see you not dead, Little Blue,” Lotor said almost flippantly.

Shiro furrowed his brow when all Lance did was shrug. Lotor clicked his tongue and threw his coat at Antok who griped about having to hold it. Ulaz crept out from behind the bar, leaning against it as Thace stood with his hands folded behind his back. Lotor pulled up a number on his phone. Zarkon struck his cane to the floor loudly.

“Lotor, what is the meaning of this,” Zarkon growled. “What business do you have here, boy? I told you not to interfere.”

Lotor lazily slanted a look at Zarkon, absently juggling the phone in his hand as it dialed. He frowned muttering about pettiness as it kept ringing. It finally connected but he got no answer on the other line. Lotor rolled his eyes. He finally bothered to address Zarkon.

“Funny thing, Father. As it stands, I’m in fact the new owner of Galra Tech and this - charming hovel. I’ve been initiating a deal with Altea for some time,” Lotor casually said. “I suggest you pack up what you can before my men personally help drag you down like I’ve ordered them.”

Lotor waved his hands. Thace and Ulaz stood straight. Antok blew an annoyed breath, crossing his arms. “Thace, Ulaz, Antok, start writing my name over everything. This place is under new management, effective immediately.”

On the line, the same voice Shiro had been talking to snarkily said, ”There, was that so hard?”

“Damn near impossible,” Lotor said around a sneer. In a quieter voice, he added, “You’re lucky the leggy blue one was so convincing.”

Lotor snapped his fingers at Lance and Shiro, an annoyed look on his face. “Shouldn’t you two be gone by now? Leave, goodbye, go away. I’m expecting to have you there to mediate between Altea and I later, McClain. But go home already, you’re both hideous.”

Lance laughed, tugging Shiro along around Zarkon, who was chattering threateningly at Lotor like he was talking to a brick wall. Shiro wanted to ask, he really did, but he didn’t think he could take any more absurd events. He placed a hand over Lance’s where it was still cradling his arm and let himself be led out of the club and into the night air. It was a rare cooler night, the humidity kind for once, and the clouds parting overhead. A half moon winked back, lighting the dim path on the streets as they headed away from the club.

Lance plopped down on the bus stop bench with a loud, tired groan. Shiro sat down next to him. Lance slid, body falling until he was inclining haphazardly against him. His lashes fluttered just twice before Shiro knew Lance had finally let exhaustion embrace him.

Shiro looked over at where Lance was leaning against his side. Under the blinking, washed out street lights, the neon signs of 24 hour marts, Shiro could still make out Lance’s features perfectly. It was hard not to realize how much of Lance had changed. How much of Shiro had changed. Shiro took care to not jostle Lance as he shrugged off his jacket and threw it over Lance’s shoulders.

Tomorrow, he would wake up on Lance’s couch after dumping the other man into the comfort of his own sheets. Tomorrow, Lance would stumble out, probably just as loud and boisterous as any time of day as Shiro had come to know him. Tomorrow, maybe they would eat together, kicking back mouthfuls of Lance’s supposedly extremely great banana pancakes and have coffee with milk. Lance would look up from where he would be stuffing his face, say some silly thing and laugh at it himself, his whole body committed to it, shaking with humor. Shiro would laugh, too, unable to keep himself from doing so.

Then, Shiro would brace himself for impact and begin the journey to re-knowing himself. He would look at Lance and tell the other man _thank you_ with all the sincerity he possessed, a feeling deeply imbedded within him. He could never repay him, Shiro knew, but he wouldn’t stop learning him, he had resolved. He would learn and relearn Lance, allow Lance to learn him, and they would walk forward together.

Lance McClain had to be one of the kindest, and most determined people Shiro had ever met.

He was glad Lance never gave up on him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for Aphelion Zine. Buuuut I got too into it and surpassed the 10k limit...by 5k. So here it is in all its entirety. 
> 
> Thanks as always to warmybones and persephonea for helping to make this fic happen and for encouraging me. Because it probably would never have been written at all lolol. Also for encouraging my adding of memes.
> 
> the fight between lance and shiro i kinda ref warrior the movie with tommy and brendon's fight. 
> 
> relationship is up to your interpretation<<<
> 
> This is the first time I've ever written 15k for one fic without it being chapters. I hope I never do this again lol.
> 
> As for Lotor and Allura, i figured in thid AU they're something of "childhood friends" but more like rivals. They CAN get along, at times, but its rocky. I kinda wanna make a side fic of Lotor, Allura, and Lance when he's negotiating but first I gotta figure out how.
> 
> thanks for reading!


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